What happens if you take two austrian guys who have no clue about the Netherlands, Hardstyle or dutch festivals to a dutch Hardstyle festival? Well, a lot. When I first thought about taking my brother to Intents, I was not exactly sure if he’d like it or not. In fact I wasn’t really sure of anything. I was actually expecting nothing or that he and his friend would like to go home early. Oh boy, how was I wrong.

Sara’s View:
“WTF AM I DOING WITH THESE TWO LOCOS?”

Our journey began in Rotterdam, where we got some alcohol (nicely camouflaged in a canister that probably looked like a gasoline tank) and took the train to Breda, where we would take the 15h bus to Intents. I showed the guys some music before, from Wasted Penguinz to Radical Redemption (which the guys totally wanted to see, just for the fun of it) and actually we wanted to take the 13h bus, which unfortunately was full already as we bought the tickets. As we were in Dordrecht the guys were already borderline wasted and I felt like I was actually taking care of two toddlers, rather than two young men. Teaching them the word “fissa” (party) turned out to be a mistake, as it later on was probably the most said word in our conversations (next to the pun of stuff being “intents”). Asking them about their expectations, the guys were excited about the theme, the people and experiencing the music.

In Breda we got another few drinks and then rushed to the bus. The bus was not really full, but also not empty. My brother was wasted, his friend slightly tipsy. We managed to probably be the most obnoxious people in the bus, yelling stuff in German, having a generally good time. But the hype was real and the guys still had no idea what was coming up! I felt a bit like I was in “Fear And Loathing In Las Vegas”. “We can’t stop here, this isn’t Oisterwijk.” After a 20min bus ride we arrived close to Intents and after another 10min walk we were standing in front of the madness. I just hoped I’d survive the day alive and well and not lose the guys on the festival area.

Being in constant correspondence with my fellow journalist, I knew what I had missed and wished I would have still gotten tickets for the 13h bus. Shortly before 16h we were finally at the entrance, our tickets were scanned and we headed for tokens and a locker box. The prices were ok (1 token = 2,50€ = 1 beer), but my brother thought it was robbery. Asking the boys about their first opinion, my brother just barfed out something like “Fuckin craaayyyzaaay!!!! Look at that CLOWN, M8!!!”. I decided it’d be a good idea to take a closer look at that clown and head towards the main stage. The general festival atmosphere was crazy and the weather was sunny and hot! Escalation was imminent, but we managed to dance our asses off to the sounds of Coone and Frontliner. As I explained the lyrics of “Swoosh Fever” to my brother, who’s also an avid “Air Max” fan, he swore to dedicate his life to Coone. My brothers friend was dancing his butt of ordering one drink after another.

As Ran-D and Outbreak started their set all three of us had a pretty good time and we soon ran into my fellow journalist and some friends from all over the place. We stayed at the main stage for a bit and then moved on to the Hardcore tent, as the guys were curious for “how extreme” the audio could go. Not being to able to read the map drunk, we first ran into the wrong tent and saw La Fuente for a few minutes until the guys decided that they REALLY wanted to go to the Hardcore tent now. On our way to the Hardcore tent we stopped at the “Fun House” stage for a while to check out Dr Rude, who delivered the perfect party mix. Having stayed at the Hardcore stage for a while to check out Noize Suppressor prs. Sonar for a bit, we decided to meet up with some fellow Austrians at the “Relive” stage.

We stayed for the entire Josh & Wesz set, even the guys knew some of the tracks they played. The atmosphere was amazing, but the tent was waaay too small, which was a real shame. We jumped and danced and sang along and also finally met the rest of our group. My brothers best friend was busy hitting on some dutch beauties, my brother was close to “#turnt AF” and we stayed for a bit to check the beginning of Scope DJ. The nostalgia of the “Relive” has something amazing, even I felt a bit like it could have been one of my first festivals again.

As the guys also wanted to see some “real fuckin’ Rawstyle!!!” we decided to head back for the main stage again, where Crypsis and Titan were working their magic. A drug dealer approached my brother and tried to be friends with him by selling him pills. (!? WTF???) He declined and the friendship broke apart as fast as it had formed. It was weird. But Titan now was the new favorite DJ of our small party crew. We stayed for a while and then headed off to see Bass-D at the Fun House stage. The Fun House was probably the favorite stage of the guys, as there were a lot of popular old school tracks played that could be considered “general music knowledge”. Bass-D was officially crowed “a real fuckin lad” by the guys.

The catering was close to the Fun House, so at around 7:30pm we decided to grab a bite. The guys grabbed some fries (yay for typically dutch snacks!) and i got some veggie spring rolls. We then headed off to Radical Redemption, who both guys were really keen to see. It was intense (oh the pun) and I think “the Radical” had recruited two new “Militants” that moment. The rawstyle beats were pumpin’ and the sun slowly began to set. We headed back to the Relive stage to group back up with our friends. Seeing the “Booster”, my best friend decided that she wanted to take a ride. I was more down for the Ferris Wheel, but whatever floats your boat, right? Standing in front of the ride, we watched my best friend and company shoot up to the sky, soaring in circles for a while. The view and adrenaline must have been amazing.

After running around for a while and getting our jackets from the locker boxes, we got back to the main stage. We watched the end of Frequencerz’ set, who had set up a live act for the day. It was great but the real highlight was just about to come: the endshow. Having seen Mental Theo several times now, I knew what might have been coming up, but it’s save to say that “my body (especially my feet) was not ready”. Crankin’ out classics and sing-a-long songs that everybody could scream and dance along to it was a perfect and almost nostalgic ending to an amazing evening! Watching the fireworks in awe, we realized that the day had come to an end.

We somehow made it to the bus. My feet were in pain, but even in the bus the atmosphere of the festival was still with us. Singing along to the radio, chattering loudly the partygoers of Intents rode back to Breda station. I hoped that we’d still catch the train, but I was wrong. I do not regret paying 130€ for a taxi back to Rotterdam, but damn. What the fuck happened that day?!

Conclusion: Bring your non-Hardstyle friends to festivals. Let them hear classic Hardcore, teach them random dutch words and feed them well. All of you will have the time of your lives and moments to remember. Intents itself is a small, but amazing festival. Colorful, crazy and very well organized. The sets I heard were amazing and “Funfair Of Madness” was the perfect theme for the occasion. I think it’s pretty safe to say that “Intents was intense”!

Dario’s View
“In the Court of the Fruity King:
A spotty account of the Intents Festival by the Unitiated and Drunk”

The day started with a bottle of vodka and four energy drinks being poured in a canister. It took us Austrians a bit of adjustment to the strict Dutch public drinking laws, as we were used to living in a country of free citizens that were able to do what they wanted in public as long as it wouldn’t hurt anybody else. Another adjustment was the said canister which was filled with fruit juice before we repurposed it for greater things, since anything outside of bottles or cartons was unheard of for anything drinkable over here. The finished product’s color reminded me of diesel, and the taste was not much better, but we weren’t going to the European Vodka-Energy Mix Championships so this wasn’t of big concern of us at that point. We just needed to get in the festival mood, and we were going to do that by pretending a fruit juice container full of energy drink and a smell like disinfectant were in the least bit stealthy enough for public wasting endeavors.

This wasn’t our only attempt at integration. My sister taught us the most important pieces of vocabulary to attempt communication with the native population. „Fissa“, „Bedankt“ and „Serieus“ were almost instantly added to the German conversations, mixing a strange amusement into the Dutch stares we got for speaking the language of the devil and mixing it up with shit they understood.

Our very limited Hardstyle knowledge was thankfully expanded by my sister who played us songs of various artists that, while I can’t recall any of their names, were probably pretty cool. To the point that we wanted to see them even. If we managed or not I can’t precisely tell you anymore at this point but I’m sure she remembers most of those still. She only drank some alcopop abomination that day, allowing her to document our behavior better than I could.
By the time we hit Dordrecht (a place my friend called „incredibly depressing looking“ but he probably didn’t know their flag looked exactly like ours at that point so I’m sure he’s super sorry about that. No hate to the people of Dordrecht) half of the canister was already gone and the mood swayed from „barely awake“ to „FISSA WHERE.“ Conversations ranged from the adoption of new identities and artist names to the milking of snakes for pharmaceutical reasons (and the question if DJ Snake was familiar with the procedures of snake milking. No, not that snake milking, I’m sure as a DJ he knows enough about that one) over thermally-induced testicular adhesion points (that’s the nicest way I ever formulated sweaty balls, by the way).

Thanks to a station-bound Supermarket an empty canister was quickly washed out and filled with wine to make our bus drive more exciting. At this point any pretense of civilized behavior went out of the window. Football chants Feyjernoord fans could thankfully not identify mixed with Kung Fury references and shitty puns based on the festival name (INTENTS? I’M INTENTS-LY DRUNK RIGHT NOW) filled our part of the bus. Grammar and volume control were already lost at this point.

This meant our first impression couldn’t be more perfect. The carnival presentation worked even with a distinct lack of MDMA. (Original quote by yours truly: DUDE THE CLOWNS ARE ON POINT!) The only sober member of our group navigated us to tokens and lockboxes, and here my memory starts failing.

I remember the main stage looking at me and giving me mad paranoia. I remember being in the front row of the scooter-like side stage and having the time of my life doing embarassing shit with my hands and being absolutely sure that this was improving the crowd participation. And most of all I remember the permanent boom of the bass. I’d love to give some more detailed feedback here but any kind of attempt to pry me for something constructive in that state were promptly answered by me shouting something like „FISSA FISSA“ or „THIS IS HYPE SHIT“. While it might not be very informative the takeaway here should be that this was a great experience I can recommend even to people that usually would not listen to this kind of music.

If I had to give one hint to someone who thought about attending one of these without knowing about the music it is: get in a state, artifically or otherwise, where you stop giving a fuck. You want to be in the trance-like state that allows you to take in the bass and do what your disoriented and coordination-freed body understands as dancing at that point. Or „singing along“, for a given definition anyway.

Winners can do this without drugs by the way, kids.

The best thing about this festival for me was the atmosphere, and the bus ride home was a testament to that. The music and artists are the centerpiece for the enthusiast, but for a casual like me the atmosphere it was matters. And the atmosphere was carried in spirit during that ride. People that were drunk or otherwise inclined to be enthusiastic sang along to „Let it Be“ on the car radio with the same kind of power they celebrated the fireworks-supported end show minutes before.

The day ended in a taxi, as the bus stranded us in Breda with no way home. The last memory of the day I had was the car radio playing that new Major Lazer song.

„Do you recall…not long ago.“

To be honest I barely recall shit. But it was fun. Definitely recommended.

 

Credit Featured Image: Intents Festival & the authors
Pictures: Intents Festival